


Fate / Summer Country

by AllanIV



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllanIV/pseuds/AllanIV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about another secret grail war, this time set in the UK with a reconstructed grail.</p><p>All new characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Preamble

In a dark chamber, deep inside a castle drenched with snow, three men came together for the last time. The first was Jubstacheit von Einzbern, the head of the great Einzbern family. The second was a man who's first name had been lost to the records, but who's last name, Fraga, was as old as civilisation itself. And the third, was Waver Velvet, also known as Lord El Melloi II.  
The three stared at each other, judging each other with cold eyes. Jubstacheit Einzbern, within who's halls they now met, tapped the golden armrest of his chair, waiting for the others to speak. It was his proposition that had brought the others there. His proposition that had brought the three families together, and his proposition that they now considered. The other family heads considered his words.  
“You want us to revive your precious grail?” Fraga uttered.  
“Yes,” Jubstacheit replied. Although he had only said one word, he said it hard, and with all the certainty of his soul. He knew, as the others did, that they here right now where his only choice.  
“And to be clear, you want us to help you do it?” The words came from the lips of Waver Velvet, but it was not his mind orchestrating it. Behind the glazed expression of the young Lord El Melloi II, Jubstacheit could see the burning passion of Reines El Melloi Archisorte, beloved 'sister' of Waver, and true head of her family. The mind spell in which she had enslaved the poor boy burned like flames. To her Jubstacheit spoke.  
“Yes.” He repeated. “But to be clear what I require is the land in your keeping.”  
“Oh?” Reines El Melloi spoke through her puppet. “And what lands would they be?”  
Jubstacheit grimaced. Reines knew all too well what lands he spoke of. She had known from before the meeting. She simply wanted him to say it, say it so that she could curse him with a contract that would bind him to her will. He doubted her magics could reach that far, not through his wards, not through the puppet she commanded. But even so, she would try, and Jubstacheit would not fall to such tricks.  
He answered aloofly. “The new grail must be born somewhere with strong ley lines, in a mage guarded space, somewhere that the agents of the church does not control,” he sighed. “But above all it must be raised somewhere secret, somewhere that no one will know of its emergence, none but us, and the seven chosen to fight for it.”  
“You say you need us, Einzbern,” Fraga uttered in a wretched voice. “But you give us no reason to pursue it with you. You seek the root for your own reasons, to restore your family's ties to the great magic of the earth. But we Fraga have no reason to desire the grail, no reason to wish it's return.”  
“Speak for yourself,” Reines El Melloi interrupted. “We have every reason to wish to see it returned.” Reines leaned back in her seat, an evil look plastered over her puppets face. Fraga looked at the puppet with shock.  
“Why?”  
“It's simple isn't it?” Reines replied. “The Einzbern's desire their magic returned, we desire magic, power. It's a simple exchange of service, for glory.” Reines' high-pitch laugh echoed through the chamber. “And don't say you don't desire the same Fraga, eventually the church is going to hunt you down to extinction, you know it will. They're just looking for an excuse, and we know you want revenge for what they did to your precious Bazett.”  
Fraga glared. “That matter was an unrelated affair.”  
“And yet you came to this meeting, how very strange.” Reines had her puppet lean forward and place his chin between his hands. “You wouldn't be here if you hadn't already decided your answer would be yes.”  
Jubstacheit had already come to the same conclusion. The Fraga family had remained secretive, and separate from mage society for centuries, it was strange that they had even deigned to answer his request for a meeting. Stranger still that they had desired to show up.  
The fact that they had come at all had convinced Jubstacheit of their intention.  
“Listen, both of you,” Jubstacheit began. “The grail can be rebuilt, and with your help we can ensure that for one wish only, the grail can be returned to us.”  
“How will we know that the grail will remain uncorrupted?” Fraga asked. “How do we know that Angra Mainyu will not return?”  
Jubstacheit words caught in his throat. How did he know about the corruption of the former grail? Jubstacheit glanced at El Melloi, seeing the confusion on the puppet's face. It was clear that Reines was not aware of it before, but now she had heard. Now she knew. Jubstacheit scowled and laid his reasoning bare.  
“The circumstances in which the corruption was born will not be repeated, Angra Mainyu, or anyone like it, will be capable of re-entering the tournament.” Jubstacheit bowed his head. “You have my word.”  
Reines grinned, teeth glinting. She opened her mouth to begin to speak.  
“And I, Fraga, accept it.”  
No magic of binding permeated the space, and what opportunity Reines might have had to seal a stranglehold over the Einzbern's vanished. She cast a glare toward Fraga, who politely ignored her by keeping his focus on Jubstacheit. He spoke in decisive words. “When do we begin?”  
“Tonight,” Jubstacheit answered. “Tonight, and in thirteen days, the war can begin.”


	2. The Awakening

Lucas Grayfield sat in a corner of the playground watching the children play. He used to come here often, when he was a child. He still was according to some people. Seventeen years old and still in school. Aside from a brief stint doing work experience at a bake-house, he'd never worked a real job a day in his life. His father, an estranged individual with no hearkening for familial ties, had paid a hefty sum of money to keep Lucas living in his mother's residential town-house a few suburbs out from London. It had felt strange, the first time that Lucas had found himself living on his own, but since his mother had died two years ago, he'd found he'd gotten used to it.  
He sighed and stood to leave. He'd had his fill of seeing the children laughing in the playground, and watching them for so long was beginning to make him tired. He began walking, just as a gust of the autumn breeze picked up some leaves and threw them at his cheek. It was a cold breeze, nothing more, but with it came something different. Something wholly unexpected. A burning sensation rocketed up the length of his right arm.  
Lucas gagged and grabbed at his arm, wincing at the sudden burst of stabbing pain. It felt like every part of the arm had just been seared with a branding iron, or pricked by a thousand needles. The school uniform he was wearing was too tight around the sleeves to allow him to look, and for a long time he thought his arm might go limp from the pain. But slowly the burning subsided.  
He gasped, not realising he'd been without breath for so long. Taking in several long intakes he put his hand to his pocket, feeling for the keys to his home, and began to run, excusing himself from the people he knocked along the way. His arm felt strange, as if the feeling in it hadn't returned correctly, or as if his nerves hadn't yet figured out how to align. He used his left hand to get him through the front door, and slammed the door shut behind him.  
His breathing was laboured. It felt heavy, and his heart was pounding in his chest. What was that? Had that just been the wind? Had something slashed him in the arm that he didn't see? He checked his blazer jacket, searching for any sign of a cut or mark. But of course there was none. Calming himself, and assuring himself that it was nothing, he removed the blazer, and unbuttoned his shirt, sure in his heart that he'd find nothing wrong.  
But sure enough, there it was. Lines of blood dripping down his arm to the bottom of his wrist. But wait, the blood. It wasn't moving. He touched it. That wasn't blood. It looked like a tattoo, running the length of his forearm, making some kind of intricate pattern that… that… that he had never seen before. What was that? His heart was beating frantically, and he was beginning to feel the panic come surging back to his mind. What was this? How had this happened? What was going on? This didn't make any sense. Why had his arm suddenly come up in tattoos of blood!  
He ran for the phone, thinking he might call someone. But by the time he had the receiver in his hand, he realised he couldn't think of anyone to call. Who exactly do you call when in the middle of a playground some invisible, stealth tattooist emblazons your arm? The police? An ambulance? A laser removal service? He slammed the receiver down and put his back against the wall. His head forehead was burning. Something was happening. He reached for the phone, deciding that the right number to dial was an ambulance, but by the time he had reached it, the fever overtook him, and he fainted.

 

Lucas came to, he wasn't sure how many hours later. All he knew was he'd passed out, and that there were two men standing above him. Both were old, one tall, the other balding and fat, but both wore the same vestments, with black outfits, oversized crucifixes and priestly collars. They were staring down at him through tinted shades. They were standing stock still, studying him.  
Slowly, he pushed himself upright against the wall.  
“Who… who are you?” He managed to stutter out.  
“Hiya!” Suddenly a young girl, not much older than he was, burst into his plane of view. She was energetic, that much was obvious, and her short brown hair that bounced every time she moved was styled so that the front only grew to her shoulders, but there was something else about her too. In the dim light of the setting sun, she seemed to sparkle.  
Setting sun? How long had he be out?! The two men stepped back to give him some room, walking to somewhere else in the house, and it was then that he realised that they weren't the only suited men here. As Lucas' eyes adjusted he realised the other men were waving their crucifixes about the room, and chanting in some sombre tongue. The however girl was grinning  
“Wow, waking up must have really knocked you out!” She remarked. It took Lucas a moment to hear the paradox in her statement.  
“What?”  
“Oh don't worry about that, we'll get to that soon enough, I'm Megan Kunis! But until we know each other better, you can just call me Kunis.” Megan stretched out her hand.  
Lucas took it, using her grip to balance himself as he got properly to his feet. She had a firm grip for someone who couldn't have been out of her teens, the sort you'd expect from a boy rather than a girl. But with the way she seemed to give it so little thought, it was like she'd helped boys up a thousand times before.  
“I'm... Lucas,” he answered nervously. He looked around, seeing the other religious looking folk combing through his house. “Who are you people?”  
“Oh don't worry, we're the church.”  
“The church?” Lucas asked, a bead of panic dripping past his shoulder. “But, I'm not a...”  
Megan grinned. He realised now that she was much shorter than he was, but with her overenthusiastic manner she didn't need to be. Megan waved a hand in front of his eyes.  
“Hello… anyone in there?” She asked.  
“What?” Lucas said, shocked.  
“I said we're not here as part of a denomination, we're agents,” Megan had a smile on her face that seemed odd. “We hunt down and destroy mages.”  
Lucas blinked. They hunt down and destroy what? Mages? Did she mean actual mages? But what did that have to do with him? What did anything have to do with…  
He pulled up his sleeve. The intricate red tattoo was still there, blood red and terrifying. Lucas stared down at it in horror, was this why they were here? Is this what they were there for?  
Across from him, Megan pulled back her sleeve. “See, you're not the only one.” She spoke, grinning furiously. Along her arm and stretching up to the elbow, Lucas saw a pattern no less intricate than his own reaching up and around. It was blood red, the same as his own, but the pattern was different. Where his had sharp triangular features, hers were rounded and spiralled. This wasn't making any sense.  
“Does… does this mean… I'm one of you?”  
Megan grinned. He finally realised what was so odd about the grin. It wasn't a normal every-day schoolgirl grin, it was a predatory grin. The smile a cat gave just before pouncing upon its prey. Lucas backed up closer to the wall.  
“No silly,” Megan said. “It means you're a mage!”  
For a brief moment Lucas' heart stopped beating, and he felt every muscle in his body go taut. A mage she'd said. A mage? He swallowed.  
“And… you kill...”  
“We don't kill all mages silly,” Megan interrupted. “Just the bad ones.” She narrowed her eyes at him, a devilish glint in her eye. “You're not a bad one, are you?”  
“I swear I don't even know what mages are!” Lucas shouted. Several of the men walking around his house looked at him. Several raised their fingers and motioned 'shhh'. Lucas was petrified.  
“Who… what's going on?”  
Megan sighed. “You really don't know anything do you?” She shook her head. “We thought as much when we arrived, not a single ward or spell in this whole house. But then, you were the one who called us...”  
“I called you?” Lucas was shocked. He didn't recall calling them. He didn't recall calling anyone. He didn't even know who these people were, how could he possibly have called them?  
“Yep, must be some unlocked memory in you or something, could be anything really!” Megan replied. “Come on, you're British right? Let's make you some tea.”  
A few minutes later Lucas found himself with a hot mug in his right hand, and a book on magecraft in his left. Megan had taken it from one of the other priests roaming around his house and shoved it into his hands, she'd then said something about having only a few minutes to read it, or maybe a few days, she wasn't sure. Instead he'd decided to just stare at it while Megan rattled off what she deemed to be a handy list of cliffnotes. It was all basic stuff. Mages used magic, there were hundreds of mages in the world, the church exterminated mages when they got out of line and a few other things like that. She'd started moving on to describing what magic was, and a few of the fundamental principles, it was all going over his head really. All the while there was only one question burning in his mind.  
“Megan...?” He began. Moving as if in slow motion, he put the book down on the coffee table, and pointed to the blood tattoo on his right arm. “What is this?”  
“Oh that, I was getting to that, that's a mark of the holy grail war.”  
“The what?”  
“Mhm, you're a champion.” Megan took a sip of her cup. Lucas gaped.  
“I'm, I'm a what?”  
“A champion, of the holy grail war,” Megan repeated. “It's a high honour really, only seven people are ever chosen, and it's the Holy Grail that does the picking.”  
It occurred to Lucas then how strange this all was. A few hours ago he'd fainted with this tattoo on his arm, dozens of men had suddenly appeared in his house, and the only one talking to him was this hyperactive little girl. It was as if the universe had decided to turn his life into one cosmic joke for a few seconds. Was he dreaming?  
“What's the Holy Grail War?” Lucas asked.  
Megan thought for a moment. “How to explain it...” she considered it long and hard, the longest that Lucas had seen in the brief time he'd known her. “So there's this powerful magical artefact called the Holy Grail, it's not the real Holy Grail, that's just what a bunch of mages called it. It's an omnipotent wish granting device and every few decades it reappears and a bunch of people die fighting over it.”  
“What?!”  
Megan waved her hand as if to bat his concerns away. “Oh don't worry, it's mostly the servants who die.” Megan's eyes flashed as she came to a sudden realisation. “Oh right the servants, so those marks on your arm are called command seals, you get three command seals at the start of the war, you use them to summon your servant.”  
“My what?”  
“Your champion, the one who fights for you to get the grail,” Megan nodded her head as if confirming that to herself. “Only a servant can touch the grail, so every master must have a servant.”  
This was all making Lucas confused. “What is a servant?”  
“A servant is a heroic spirit taken from history, many servants have fought in the grail war before, ranging from King Arthur to Alexander the Great,” she took another sip from her drink. “A servant is summoned using a relic from their past and a special ritual, once the servant is chosen they become loyal to you but if you want you can command them with the command seals. Your command seals can force them to obey any command, but if you use up all of your command seals they won't need to obey you anymore. Once all the servants are chosen, the holy grail war can begin.”  
Okay, he was starting to piece it together, but there were still so many questions. Like how did these rituals work? How did any of this work? What kind of heroes could he summon? But only one question burned the most in his mind.  
“Why would these servants obey me at all?” Lucas asked. “Why wouldn't they just force me to use all these seals on getting them to follow orders and then roam free.”  
Around the pair of them, the priests were starting to file out of the room. Whatever their search and incanting had been for had clearly ended. Lucas caught a whiff of incense, and he felt a strange presence over his home. It was warm, and pressed against his skin like a thin mist. He remembered the feeling from those hot summer days. It was a comforting feeling.  
“Because they want the Holy Grail too.” Megan answered. “The Holy Grail is an omnipotent wishing device, but as it can only be handled by a servant, only the servant and their master can be granted a wish, which means servants get to have their wish granted too.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “Servants are maintained in the real world by their master's mana through the binding of the summoning contract, so without a master they eventually fade away. They need a master to reach the grail, and the master needs their servant.”  
Lucas nodded. “So, it can be anyone from history? Anyone?”  
“Not quite anyone,” Megan admitted. “Heroes that have already fought in the war before can't be summoned if they've died, and some heroes refuse the call, but usually that's because the connection between master and servant isn't strong enough, or another servant has a connection stronger than the relic used to summon.” She shrugged. “It's all a little haphazard really, but it works.”  
Megan's eyes flashed. “Oh, I should show you, Saber!” All of a sudden the air beside Megan shimmered and as if a mist were being lifted a woman appeared beside her. The woman bowed in a curt fashion to her master, and then her eyes locked on Lucas.  
Lucas was awestruck. The woman who had appeared was beautiful. She was adorned in gold encrusted in jewels, from the crown of her head to the mantle on her shoulders. Her black hair came down in two woven locks that dangled just above her breasts, and a thin white cloth like a hijab was wrapped around her head and under her chin. She wore jewels sewn into her hair, and her eyes were strong. There was justice in those eyes, absolute and unwavering justice. And in her hand she held a beautiful jewel encrusted sword...  
“This is Tamar, Queen of Kings,” Megan introduced. “She's of the saber class. She ruled the kingdom of Georgia eight hundred years ago, and slew hundreds of men.” Megan gave a light giggle. “The church gave her to me, she's one of their saints.”  
“The church...” The words trailed off. “Wait, saber class?”  
“Mhm,” Megan nodded. “There are seven classes of champion, saber, rider, caster, lancer, berserker, archer and assassin.” Megan gazed up at her servant. “It's a well known fact that the saber class is the best, they've been among the final two in every grail war,” she grinned. “That's why we summoned her first, before anyone else could!”  
Lucas nodded. “Wait, so no one else can summon her?”  
Megan gave a light laugh, her high pitch wafting through the house. “Not anymore, only one of each class can be summoned, and as soon as I appeared the church gave me the first saber class spirit they had. That way no one can get her but me.” Megan smiled. “You're going to have to choose your servant soon.”  
“My servant?”  
“Mhm,” Megan took another sip from her tea. “The church are hoping to choose the perfect servant for you, once all the other servants have been chosen. They have a lot of relics you know.”  
Once again Lucas was awestruck. “The perfect servant?” He asked. “Why would they do that for me?”  
Megan shrugged. “Well they know you can't win, you're too young as a mage, you probably barely have enough mana in you to summon a servant. But you are a master, and strategy is important. They're probably hoping they can team you up with someone who is really supportive of my saber, like assassin or caster.”  
Lucas blinked. Things were starting to go over his head again, but he was sure he would make sense of it soon. He just needed time to process it.  
Megan placed her teacup down on her dish. “Saber, could you possibly boil me another cup of tea?” She held the teacup in the air for Saber to collect. Saber nodded, taking the cup into the kitchen.  
“She knows what tea is?” Lucas asked. The moment he said it he heard the sound of the kettle being moved and the stove being switched on.  
“Once a heroic spirit is summoned into this world, the grail gives them working knowledge of the world and society they've come to,” Megan answered. “She knows what tea is, she probably knows more about it than you do.”  
“Oh,” Lucas replied. He glanced down at his tea, and realised he hadn't touched it since the conversation started. The warm feeling he'd received from the cup had faded, and he was sure it must have gone cold. He brought it to his lips and tasted it. Yep, definitely cold. Lukewarm at best.  
“So tell me Lucas,” Megan started. “What do you wish for?”  
“What do I wish for?” Lucas repeated. The thought came bubbling to the surface, the one dream he wished above all else. “Oh, uh… I don't want to talk about it.”  
“Oh come on!” Megan insisted. “You have to have some wish, and that's got to be cool. This is a chance of a lifetime, one chance to have any wish you want granted.”  
Lucas flinched a little. He wanted to curl up into a ball. Saber, resplendent in all her jewels returned to the room, carrying the dainty teacup filled to the brim with steaming hot tea. It reminded him… reminded him of...  
“So come on, what is it, do you want fame? Power? Fortune?” Megan pushed.  
Lucas' eyes fluttered. He could feel the water building up inside.  
“I want,” he began. “My mother.”  
Megan pulled back slightly. She'd found a nerve, and she knew it.  
“Oh, I see...” It was obvious how terrible she felt.  
“No, it's fine,” Lucas said, raising his hands in her defence. “I just feel a little sentimental about it. My mother she, she passed away two years ago, it's never been the same since. I know I can survive without her, but, I still want her back, you know?” He looked into his tea. “I want her to see the sort of son I've grown up to be, I want her to experience all the world with me, like she used to. She was so lively and spirited, I… I just wish she...”  
Tears began to well behind his eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve. Across from him, Megan had curled up a little, putting her feet on the chair so her knees almost came up to her face. She looked, kind of sweet like that, cute even, but more importantly she looked like she knew she'd done something wrong. When she saw him watching her, she improvised one of her happier smiles and said.  
“Well you know what I want, I want to be the world's greatest executor.” By the time she'd finished, her trepidation had turned back into pride.  
“A what?”  
“An executor, the blade of the church, we kill anything heretical, like demons and mages and vampires...”  
“Those exist too?”  
Megan nodded. “Yep!” She chirped. “I figure by the time the Holy Grail war ends, I'll either have my wish granted, or I'll be halfway there already!” She took another sip from her drink, then tilted her head to one side. “It's a golden opportunity for me! In a sense, I've already won!”  
She laughed to herself for a few seconds, then all of a sudden stopped and thanked Saber for the tea. Saber bowed.  
“It is my pleasure, lady.” Saber responded.  
Lucas looked up at Saber. He found it hard to believe that a woman like that could desire anything from the grail. Someone whom was introduced as the Queen of Kings surely had never wanted for anything. But Megan had said that even the servants had wishes. He wondered what hers were.  
“So what's your wish?” He asked, the words blurting out before he'd even finished considering the thought. Saber's eyes flashed, the sort of flash that could shoot daggers.  
“That is for my master's ears only.” She spoke with a resoluteness that was hard for Lucas to hear. He felt every fibre of his body cowering before her majesty.  
“Oh it's fine, go on, tell him,” Megan replied. “He could use the help if he's going to be commanding a servant of his own later.”  
“With your permission my master, I'd prefer not.” Saber said. Her insistence was as strong as Megan's was helpful, but it was Megan who let go first.  
“As you wish,” Megan said, then she gestured to Lucas. “See, they have their own beliefs and opinions, you should know that before you start commanding one of them.”  
Saber eyed Lucas, her gaze threatening. Had her master ordered it, he had no doubt that she would cut him down here and now. It was incredible to think that such a powerful woman was being commanded by such a young girl...  
Megan let out a sigh as she put down her tea. “This is lovely, Saber,” she said. “Remind me that I must have you make my tea more often!”  
“As you command my master.” Saber replied.  
Okay, that was it. Lucas was officially weirded out. He was talking to a spirit and a girl who said she wanted to execute people when she grew up. People like him. This was getting a bit too freaky for him.  
“Hey, you don't think I can get some time to be alone for a while, do you?”  
Megan shook her head. “Of course you can! But until you've summoned your servant, I'll be staying here to protect you. There may be others who know you're here now, and they might try to take you out before the fighting starts.”  
Lucas shivered. “Others?”  
“The other five of the seven of course!” Megan replied. “Six have already been chosen, we're just waiting on one more to be brought forward, and then we wait until everyone has summoned their servant.” Megan smiled. “Don't worry, it'll all be starting soon.”  
That was precisely what Lucas was worried about.


	3. Chapter 3 The Summoning

The Archibald manor had been closed off that evening. Every family member sent home except for three, who were given tasks of greatest importance. These three were Waver Velvet, Reines Archisorte, and Morrigan Archibald.  
It was not unexpected that three of these individuals would find themselves together, alone in the Archibald manor. Reines was, after all, Waver Velvet's adoptive sister, and it was expected that they would spend time together. Morrigan, however, was a different case. Many years ago, before Reines could properly remember, she had been banished from the family for rejecting its traditions. It had been only since Waver's rise to head of house that she had been allowed to return, and since then she had formed what seemed a tight bond with each of her cousins. A fact that then Reines had regretted, but today she was pleased of most of all.  
Morrigan bore the jagged red lines of the command seals.  
With a piece of chalk, Reines began to draw the ritual circle into the floor. According to those who left the house, Waver's recent trip abroad had left him feeling ill, and he desired everyone leave lest they catch sickness he had contracted. Only his sister, and his favoured cousin were permitted to remain, but it was expected that it might be many days before Waver opened the gates for the family to return. Thus excused through Reines' lies, she had laid him down to rest inside of the prepared circle where he was forced to enter a deep sleep and his magic, what little of it there was, could be utilised to her own ends.  
Relieved from the strain of controlling him, Reines breathed. “You know, for a powerful mage he sure is easy to fool,” she remarked, turning to Morrigan as she did. “Are you ready?”  
Morrigan nodded. “Yes,” she whispered and touched a crystal against the edge of the chalk line. A rush of magical energy surged through the chalk, and a glow emanated throughout. Tiny sigils inscribed into the outline glinted with a blue light, then a moment later faded.  
“It's done.” Morrigan said, tucking the gemstone into her red cloak. “All of his mana has been drained into this stone.”  
Reines giggled. “Excellent,” she said. “Now, we should start summoning your servant shouldn't we?”  
Locking the prison door in which Waver had been left, the pair descended to the private chapel of the Archibald manor. There, an elaborate ceremony had been laid out, of candles and chalk outlines. Several seats had been cleared to make room, with the great pews that had once dominated the centre pushed up against the walls. Sitting upon the altar and surrounded by dozens of wax candles, a small briefcase sat. Inside was the ivory tusk of a great animal, with a serial number engraved into the side.  
“Hannibal Barca...” Morrigan whispered. Reines nodded.  
“We found it just for you, we knew he'd be your absolute favourite, and of course, who better to win the holy grail than the Rome's Greatest Enemy?” Reines ran her finger along the ivory. “The man we bought it off had originally intended to turn it into a piano, can you believe it? The ivory tusk of Hannibal's greatest weapon turned into an instrument.”  
Morrigan nodded. “It wouldn't be any different. Had he done so we would have simply ripped the piano apart and brought the pieces here.”  
Reines smiled. “You know, you can be quite bloodthirsty when you put your mind to it.”  
Morrigan bowed her head. “If it offends you...”  
“Oh no, keep it up, you'll need it for the war.” Reines took a step outside the circle. “Waver's mana should be enough to boost your servant's power beyond its normal limits, giving him a private reserve he wouldn't have had otherwise.” Reines shrugged. “It's not quite as good as sharing the contract with another mage, but it'll do for the time being.”  
Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “You would propose breaking the rules like that.”  
“Oh no, not at all,” Reines spoke. “But it has been done before.”  
Morrigan eyed Reines Archisorte carefully. When the marks had first appeared on her arm, she had taken it to Lord El Melloi II directly, seeking his advice. He had, after all, been involved in the fourth grail war some decades ago, and in its final dismantling several years after. The appearance of these command seals would have been of great interest to him. But by the time Waver had returned, it had become clear that Reines, not Lord El Melloi, was pulling the strings. Reines had suggested a partnered contract, but Morrigan had not allowed it. A traditionalist she was not, but some laws were not made to be broken. And though she trusted Reines with her life, she doubted her intentions were quite as wholesome.  
Reines stepped behind the altar, to a safe space that had been specially prepared. With a gesture she indicated that it was time to begin. Morrigan, a serious expression on her face, removed the red cloak and fur mantle that she had been wearing, and placed them to one side. The small stone containing Waver's power was in her hand, and gently she placed it beside the ivory task.  
“Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill, repeat five times, but when each is filled, destroy it,” she took a deep breath. The magic of the leylines, the stone of Waver's energy, of the magic flowing through Morrigan's magic circuits, they began to fill the room. She could feel the presence of the grail, the presence through the ritual. In her mind, she could see her servant, Hannibal, the man she desired, rising up to the pinacle of her thoughts.  
“For the elements silver and iron, the foundation stone and the archduke of pacts, and for my great master, El Melloi, raise a wall against the wind and close the gates of four directions, come forth from the ground and follow the fourth road leading to the kingdom.”  
The circle began to glow.  
“Heed my words. My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the grail's call, and obey my will and reason, then take this mana, and answer my summoning.”  
The gemstone shattered. A great wind began to build. The room began to shake.  
Morrigan grit her teeth. Her voice lifted to a shout.“I hereby swear, that I will further the name of my house, that your enemies will become my enemies, that my mana will be your sword, that you, who struck fear into your enemy's hearts, will ride with me, and that together, we will win the grail!”  
The torrents of magic built into a hurricane, shaking every loose thing in the chapel. From her position in the wings, Reines had a smile.  
Morrigan's dress whipped around her legs. “Seven heavens clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding, obey me, Rider of Elephants!”  
The flash of light subsumed the hall, and for a moment. Morrigan was blinded. By the time it faded, a tall figure stood in the centre of the ritual circle. Hair tied back above the head. Head bowed, long eyes closed. Golden armour over green robes glinting in the candlelight. Standing nearly three metres in height, and in either hand carried deadly swords of the orient, each the length of an arm. The heroic spirit bowed.  
“Greetings,” she said. “I am Lady Trieu Thi Trinh, and I am here to serve my master.”  
Morrigan's jaw hung loosely from its hinge.  
“You're… you're who?”  
The oriental woman bowed again. “I am Lady Trieu of the Golden Robe, liberator of Vietnam,” she answered. “And I have answered your summons.”  
“What? No… No!” Morrigan shouted. “You're not the one I summoned!”  
“I'm afraid master, I am.” Lady Trieu replied.  
“No!” Morrigan snapped. “I summoned Hannibal, the great Hannibal Barca, Enemy of Rome!” She stamped her foot on the stone floor. “How dare you come before me!”  
Lady Trieu's eyebrow shivered. Her alabaster face maintaining her perfect composure. She pointed at the briefcase behind her. “That there is the tusk of my elephant, with whom you summoned me to fight in this grail war.” She said. “If I am not what you desired, then feel free to release me and abandon your claim in this war.”  
Morrigan was about to shout, she opened her mouth to scream some profanity, but her words were interrupted by the laughter of Reines in the background.  
“Oh this is priceless!” Reines cackled. “To think, after all the effort we put in to find that thing it would turn out like this!” Her laughter arced up to the rafters above. Morrigan glared at her.  
“You! You set this up!”  
Reines wiped away a tear. “Oh no, well not exactly, we really did try to find the tusk of Hannibal's steed,” Reines' chest heaved a few times as she tried to contain her joy. “But given how close Lord El Melloi II was to Alexander the Great from his time in the grail war, we had to put a few precautions in the ritual to make sure his will wouldn't accidentally override the summoning. I guess it accidentally blocked your will as well.”  
Reines stepped forward, to approach the oriental lady. She bent over slightly to get a better view. “So this is your Rider huh? Powerful.”  
“I don't want powerful, I wanted Hannibal!” Morrigan shouted.  
“And I wanted a noble a master,” Lady Trei replied.  
“Oh shush,” Reines interjected, mostly to Morrigan. “You can't afford to abandon her now, do that and the rank of Master will pass to someone else, likely my brother Lord El Melloi.” A sneer crossed her face, one that was immediately tempered by a sly smile. “Of course then he and she with him would be my slave.”  
Morrigan trembled. The rage in her body was building to a crescendo. Never had she felt so cheated in her life. Never had she felt so abused. Here she was supposed to be face-to-face the man of her dreams, the man who had once brought the great empire of Rome to its knees. Instead she was facing this… this… this nobody!  
Reines sighed. “Take pride in what you have Morrigan, by the look of her I think she might be more powerful than Hannibal might have been.”  
“No one could be more powerful,” Morrigan glowered. Reines clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes.  
“Trust you to be the one with all the fantasies, I guess that's why the grail chose you after all.” As soon as she spoke Reines turned on her, all playfulness cast aside. “Remember your wish Morrigan, the source of all magic, power for the Archibald house, you will do this. Remember that you swore an oath to the household.”  
“I swore an oath to serve the head of the Archibald family, be that you, or the puppet Lord you control.” Morrigan replied. Her upper jaw still grit against her lower law. Her fists were still clenched in balls of anger. Still, she bowed her head. “I will make your wish.”  
Reines' eyes glowed, the binding of her contract spell activated. Two tendrils of magic reached out from those eyes and wrapped around Morrigan's temple. There was a spark of energy, and then that was it, the contract was sealed.  
“Excellent,” Reines said. She exhaled, relieving herself of whatever tension she held. “Well then,” she continued. “Perhaps I should let the two of you get better acquainted.” She stepped off from the altar and headed toward the chapel doors. Her footsteps echoed throughout the chamber until she rounded the corner and was gone.  
Morrigan glared at her servant.  
“Dematerialise, I don't even want to see you.” She ordered.  
“With pleasure,” Rider responded. Almost instantly the woman vanished without a trace.  
All at once, Morrigan was alone in the chapel. Her servant, gone. Her cousins, separated throughout the manor. She knew the reputation of the wars, she knew the reputation of her cousin. This was as close as she was going to get to privacy for what might be the rest of her life.  
She screamed.

 

Lucas sipped at another tea. It had been two days since the symbol had first appeared, and in that time Megan told him three more servants had been summoned. By now, there was only assassin and caster left to claim. She had given him books, and more books, on magic rituals, casting, and treatises on servants, just in case he needed them. Lucas had found himself drowned in more knowledge than he ever knew existed, and it was far more than his limited mind could comprehend. More than once, Saber had called him incompetent, and suggested to Megan that they just leave him, but Megan had been insistent.  
“Come on, if we look after him now he might be valuable later.”  
“He is also your enemy.”  
“Yeah, but it's kind of cute watching him struggle through this all, don't ya think?”  
Cute, yeah right. Lucas pulled up one of the books onto his lap, then lifted his knees so that it was propped up for him. Cute my ass. Studying was hard, but he was starting to get the hang of it. The books that Megan had given him were helpful, but really it was the talking that cemented the knowledge for him. He had to admit, he had always been a quicker learner from conversation and social interaction than any amount of books. The books just gave him basic knowledge, that was all.  
Putting the books aside again, he practised focusing on the magical circuits that Megan claimed were inside his body. The books all talked about it, about focusing magical energies through circuits to form connections, and through those connections casting powerful spells. But the incantations and gestures that were supposed to go with it, these were things he didn't know. He could feel the energy around him, that thick mist the priests had built up. He concentrated on that, trying to replicate that feeling inside himself.  
Something crashed in the room above.  
“Ow!” Megan's voice echoed down the stairs. “You know maintaining wards is a lot harder than it looks!”  
Lucas got to his feet and walked over to the steps. “What are you doing?!” He shouted up.  
“Just trying to recharge the barriers the executors set up, did your mother deliberately avoid ley lines when picking this house?!” She called back. Lucas shrugged.  
“I don't know, until two days ago I didn't even know this stuff existed!”  
“Yeah, what a bummer!” Megan shouted back. She stepped out of the guest bedroom, wiping what looked like green muck out of her hair. Lucas pointed.  
“What's that?” He asked innocently.  
“Urgh, just some residue,” Megan responded. “I tried using some alchemy to help the process, didn't work.” She sighed and plopped herself down on one of the chairs. “So, any word from the church?”  
Lucas shook his head.  
“That's a pity,” she said. “I was hoping they'd have come to a decision about what to send you by now.” She sighed. “I really want to do the ritual.”  
Lucus pressed his fingers together. “Um, Megan...”  
“Kunis,” Megan corrected him.  
“Um, Kunis,” he started, “Would it be alright if I picked my own hero?”  
Megan's eyes widened and her mouth made a slight 'o' shape. “Huh?” Her impolite phrasing of the question told Lucas just how comfortable she'd made herself. Lucas sighed, that wasn't important right now.  
“Come on,” he said, and gestured for her to follow.  
Lucas led her to the stairs to below the house. Flicking the light on, he walked down the rickety wooden steps until he was on the bottom. Down here were boxes, upon boxes and more boxes. He began filtering through them, opening them up one by one to check their contents then moving on when he hadn't found what he wanted.  
“Wow Lucas,” Megan spoke. “I didn't realise you were a hoarder!” Despite her criticism, she sounded genuinely impressed.  
“It's my mothers stuff,” He said. “She used to be a major history buff and collector, sometimes we travelled just so she could go to auctions and see what else she could find, here.” He lifted a book from out of a box. The book was old, very old. Bound in leather, with pages that looked moth-eaten and torn.  
“That's an old book,” Megan commented.  
Lucas smiled and opened it up. Inside were coins, about a dozen per page, each packaged in small paper pockets with carefully scrawled, handwritten labels.  
“My mother picked this up from an auction, she said the book belonged to some old guy in the eighteen hundreds, but the coins go back thousands of years. He blew on the pages, studying the cursive scrawl over the pages. “Do you think one of these might help?”  
Megan blinked, several times. “You… want to use these to summon something?”   
“Yeah,” Lucas replied.  
“You've got to be kidding,” there was a pause. “Oh God, you're not kidding. Okay, Lucas, listen, there's a lot more to doing a summoning than just grabbing a random piece of metal from a dig site somewhere. A relic's got to be important, it's got to connect to the heroic spirit being summoned, you can't just pull out some random book and hope for the best.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because you could end up with anyone!” Megan shouted. “Or no one, and the whole spell would fail!”  
“But I'd be able to try again, right?”  
“Well, yes, if it failed, but if it succeeds and you get some random weak spirit-”  
“I want to do this.” Lucas interjected. He held the book with both hands. “I want to try and bring her back, with something of hers.”  
Megan looked dumbfounded for a moment. She sighed. “Fine, but if you end up with a dud I'm not carrying you through this war, your servant will be a meatshield for my Saber, you got that?”  
“Yeah, got it.” Lucas replied. Wrapping his arms around the book he began carrying it up the stairs. A feeling of elation grew in the pit of Lucas' stomach, that grew with every step that he took. This was it, he'd found it. Somewhere in this book would be a coin directly connected with some hero of legend, or maybe with a great thief or warrior who hoarded his gold. It was a long-shot, he knew, but it was also everything he wanted. Megan had said that just by participating in this war it was like she'd already won. If this worked, it would be like that for him. A heroic spirit, a servant, given to him as a gift from his mother. With this, even if he lost, he could be happy.  
Lucas knew all too well that he didn't stand a chance in this war, everyone else was probably like Megan, or powerful mages in their own right, and wasn't Megan always going on about how the more powerful the master the more powerful servant? He wasn't powerful, heck until recently he didn't even know stuff like this existed outside of novels and cinema. How could he possibly command a servant when he didn't even understand his own role very well? How could he command if he didn't even comprehend their abilities? No, if a meatshield was all he could be, then he would choose a meatshield he felt comfortable with, and that could only come from his mother. He dumped the book on the table, which landed with a heavy thud.  
“Okay,” he said, brushing a sleeve across his brow. “How do we do this?”  
“Well for a start, you don't do it here.” Megan stated. “You want to do the summoning as close to a ley line as possible, and the magic flow through this house is terrible, I can't even keep up basic barriers.” She glanced around, sticking her tongue occasionally to taste the air. “I can probably try finding a more suitable place if you like.”  
“Sure,” Lucas replied. “That'd be great.” He began rifling through the pages, searching for any coins that might hold special significance of some sort.  
“Okay, I'll be right back, don't move while I'm gone!” She called.  
“Okay!” Lucas replied,  
“Come on Saber!” She called, then headed out the door. The door closed, and Lucas was left alone. Reaching for the tea he'd left on the coffee table earlier, he took a sip, and continued pouring through the book.

 

The place that Megan found was not where Lucas expected. It sat at the very centre of an island between four roads, right near the centre of town. A monumental church, with a spire several metres high built of limestone and granite. It was old, and it seemed to glow in the dusk with a light of its own.  
Lucas swallowed. This was not what he had imagined. The walls of the church were windowless, and the roof had long been missing. Here and there he could still see scars of a long-ago war, the marks of incendiaries that had been dropped on it nearly a hundred years ago. They said twelve hundred people had died during those times. As cars drove past he felt a tingle down his back as though eyes were watching me. He couldn't tell if it was coming from the cars, or the church.  
“Here?” He asked. He clutched the book of coins in both hands. It was heavy, far heavier than any book He'd lifted before. Megan smiled at me.  
“Yeah, here. It's got really good ley energy, and it's the best we're going to get unless you want to drive out to St Michael's,” she replied energetically. “Come on, let's get inside, Saber, make sure nobody follows us in, okay?”  
When a break in the traffic presented itself, Megan led him across to one of the old walls, climbing through that rather than trying the doors. Following after her, Lucas was met by a sight he had not wished to observe. Empty aisles, stretching from one end of the church to the other. In some places he could see epitaphs and tablets, memorials to people long since passed. He felt the weight of it on his heart.  
“Now we could try climbing up the tower, but we'd be more likely to be seen.” Megan spoke, oblivious to anything that wasn't her purpose. “I think doing it inside on the ground floor would be best.”  
“Are you sure it's safe here?” He asked.  
“Of course it's safe, come on.” She replied with her usual zest. She led him further inside, taking him into the very heart of the grand steeple that stood so many metres into the sky. As he followed, he noticed the signs of dust recently disturbed, and that feeling of being watched came over him again. The dusk light was beginning to fade away, and taking out a piece of chalk, Megan's expression turned sombre.  
“We don't have long,” she spoke. “This place has its greatest power between day and night, and with your meagre you need all the help you can get.”  
Lucas nodded his head, watching as she expertly drew the circle onto the floor. Her lines were precise, fluid, but here and there she had left spots empty. Spaces that still need to be filled. When the circle finished, she stood and turned to Lucas. Their eyes met, and suddenly Lucas knew that his part had arrived.  
She held something in her hand for him to take. It was not the chalk, but a dagger. Crystalline and sharp. Taking it in hand, Lucas walked to the circle. The gaps in Megan's circle were small, but each one prevented the full circle from being closed. Something had to be placed there to fill them, and that thing was blood.  
With a deep breath, Lucas placed the sharp of the knife against his wrist. He took in another breath. Then another. There were five spaces that needed filling. Five gaps in the greater circle. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he readied himself for what he was about to do.  
“Hurry up.” Megan inserted impatiently.  
The blade plunged into his wrist.  
Once the circle was complete the energy began to flow. He could feel it, coursing through him, and around him. He felt like he was in the centre of a cauldron that had been warm for some time but was only just now beginning to stew. He breathed.  
“Okay, so now I begin.”  
“Wait,” Megan said, holding another something out to him. He looked down, and was this time surprised to see a pair of sunglasses.  
“What's this for?”  
“For the light, there's going to be a pretty big flash of it if this works,” she replied. Lucas accepted.  
“Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill,” he breathed. “Repeat five times, but when each is filled, destroy it.”  
The pain in his arm throbbed and tingled. He glanced at the crystaline dagger, at the book of coins that lay open at his feet.  
“For the elements silver and iron, the foundation stone and the archduke of pacts,” he felt the air lift around him, and the smell of rain entered the air. “Raise a wall against the wind and close the gates of four directions, come forth from the ground and follow the fourth road leading to the kingdom.”  
The smell of rain began to build, and like electricity he could feel mana flowing over and around him. It bounced off the walls, flew over his shoulders. The pain in his arm increased threefold, and he could feel his injured arm being drawn to the circle. He trembled.  
“Heed my words. My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the grail's call, and obey my will and reason, then take this mana, and answer my summoning. I hereby swear, that I will be true to myself and my desire for the grail, and with that truth, I will be true to your desires as well.”  
“Seven heavens clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding, obey me, heroic spirit!”  
The flash of light was blinding.


End file.
